The Christmas Cradle. Linda Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d never fall in love again and that she’d never have the mother she wanted. Life was cruel and love was painful, but he wouldn’t tell his daughter that. She’d learn soon enough.

      “First thing in the morning,” he replied, taking the letter from her. “Now it’s time for bed.”

      Ellie made a face. “Why do I have to go to bed at nine? I don’t have school tomorrow ’cause it’s Saturday. We’re going shopping with Aunt Becky in Dallas.”

      “Because we have rules around here.”

      “Tulley doesn’t obey the rules. He goes to bed when he wants to.”

      Colter pulled back the covers. “When you’re Tulley’s age, you can go to bed when you please.”

      “Oh boy.” Ellie crawled into bed. Her dog, Sooner, jumped up beside her. “How old is Tulley? How long do I have to wait?”

      “Tulley’s seventy. You do the math.”

      Her face fell again. “I’ll never be that old.”

      Colter gathered her in his arms. “Yes, you will, but you’ll always be my little girl.”

      “I love you, Daddy.” She gave him several loud kisses.

      He kissed her soft cheek. “I love you, too, angelface.”

      No matter what happened in his life, this child would always be the center of it, and he would do everything in his power to ensure her happiness.

      And that meant he couldn’t tell her the truth about her mother.

      MARISA PRESTON SAT at her desk and wondered what she was doing in her Dallas office on a Saturday afternoon. She didn’t usually come in on weekends, but today she had to stay busy, to keep from thinking. She got up and headed down to the busy hub of Dalton’s Department Store. The firm she’d hired to do the Christmas decorations had done an outstanding job, or so her secretary and father had informed her. Maybe looking at the decorations would inspire a little Christmas spirit. This time of year always left her with a lonely, empty feeling that was hard to shake.

      She found herself in the gift section full of special items they’d gotten in for the holidays. Her eyes went to it immediately—the Christmas Cradle. They had one every year. A man who lived in Austin designed and crafted them, and each one was made from a single block of wood. He didn’t use a single screw or hinge. His wife sewed the delicate bedding of white silk and lace. It was an antique design, and the wood was stained, not painted. All the intricate designs carved on the cradle denoted “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” making it one of a kind.

      Unable to stop herself, she walked over and touched the beautiful cradle. As it rocked gently, she suddenly felt suffocated. Closing her eyes, she drew several deep breaths, but she couldn’t block out the sound—the sound of her baby crying.

      She was powerless to halt the memories. This was the day she’d met him. She remembered it vividly; her friends, Stacy and Rhonda, had wanted her to go on an adventure to Las Vegas early in December. Back then, she’d lived in a New York penthouse with her mother and adhered to a strict regimen of training to be a concert pianist. While her mother was away in Europe, she had the opportunity to escape. She’d yearned for fun and freedom.

      The National Rodeo Finals were taking place, and Stacy and Rhonda wanted to attend some of the events, to get a glimpse of a real cowboy. Once they were sitting in the audience, all of Marisa’s attention was on one cowboy. He wasn’t bigger or taller than any of the others, but he rode with such self-assurance and confidence, and he seemed to have a genuine respect for the animal he was riding.

      He was the best and they all knew it. Not only had the announcer said he was the top rider in the country, he had numerous awards to prove it.

      He’d been very impressive to a young girl from New York. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. Once, when he’d finished a ride, the pickup riders let him down right in front of where she was sitting. He’d bent to retrieve his hat and as he straightened and slapped his hat against the side of his leg, he’d looked directly at her.

      He had the most unusual green eyes. They were light green, the color of grapes in summer. She remembered that first stirring of desire she’d experienced gazing into those eyes, and she’d known he would be far more stimulating than any nectar grapes could produce.

      And he was. He was a true-blue Texas cowboy, with a brooding look that could make a young girl’s heart flutter. He was handsome, exciting and very much a man. She’d fallen in love with him instantly.

      If her mother… She exhaled a painful breath as other emotions crowded in—the shock, the heartache that followed. But those were only minor compared to the pain of her son’s birth and his death. She still wasn’t over it, and she believed a woman never got over losing a child. She hadn’t. The memory of her son was always with her.

      That was why at Christmastime she always managed to find her way to the cradle. It would soon be sold to a lucky expectant mother, but for a moment she could imagine… No, no, don’t.

      Shoving the memories away, she glanced around the large store, its merchandise and salespeople upscale and the very best. Dalton’s was important to her and her family. Her grandfather, her mother’s father, had started the business in the 1930s, and today it was one of the most successful family-owned chains in Texas. This was her heritage and she was proud of it.

      She just wished she felt more enjoyment, more pleasure in her work. What she actually felt was trapped. As senior vice-president, she should have more responsibility for making decisions, but her father, Richard Preston, was the driving force behind Dalton’s and nothing was ever done without his approval.

      The decorations were perfect, she thought, studying the beautiful gold and silver bells and garlands and the red accents that seemed to reflect the cheer and enthusiasm of the busy shoppers.

      Several of the employees watched her, but none spoke. She hated her father’s rules: no fraternizing with the staff and vice versa. She’d been reprimanded more than once for speaking to employees while on the floor. If she had something to say, her father had told her, she was to summon that person to her office. Since her best friend worked on the floor, it was hard to follow the rules, but then, her father didn’t need to know every little detail of her life. Although she resented his rigidity and control, she’d always be grateful to him because he’d been there when she’d really needed someone. Her mother she refused to think about—especially today.

      She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of a man standing by the gift-wrap counter. No. Her breath congealed in her throat. It can’t be. It can’t be him! Not today.

      Was she hallucinating? Thinking about him too much? The tall lean figure had to be a trick of her imagination. But as she took in the long legs in tight-fitting Wranglers, the silver buckle, the cowboy boots, the brown leather jacket, she knew this was real. He was real—as real as he’d been eight years ago.

      Colter Kincaid, the man she’d loved so passionately and promised to marry when she was seventeen, the father of her son, was standing a few feet away.

      She hadn’t seen him even once since that morning in the motel, but she would’ve known him anywhere: the proud way he held his head, the sharp lines of his face, those broad shoulders. All these things were the same and yet he seemed so different. СКАЧАТЬ